


if fortune is adverse, front its blows with brave hearts

by cathedralhearts



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 10:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19316617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathedralhearts/pseuds/cathedralhearts
Summary: Grizz can take care of himself. Has for a long time. But Sam can’t help but want to wrap him in cotton wool and keep him safe from everything, safe and warm and cared for, in their little bubble.





	if fortune is adverse, front its blows with brave hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched the entirety of The Society in two days and I have some Things To Work Out re: Grizzam. So, please take my id and enjoy it, in whatever way that happens to come for you. It’s been a freaking long time since I’ve been actively engaged in fandom, as I have slowly melted out of sports RPF, and I think(???) I’m excited about getting involved in another. Let’s just focus on getting Netflix to renew for another season and hope the show’s Insta keeps posting amazing couple shots in the meantime.
> 
> Thanks to Cicero for the title, whom I now know and apparently give a crap about.

**i.**

 

Grizz has thin wrists, Sam idly notices as Grizz taps away at a message to Luke. He’s a big guy, towers over Sam, to the point where Sam probably has to get up on tiptoes if he wants to steal a kiss (can’t wait to do that)-- he’s built from years of football, fast and strong but lithe, and still a bit gangly in that teenage boy way.

 

But his wrists, those are… delicate.

 

Gentle.

 

The wrists that joins to hands that hold books, books older than his parents and their parents, trying to make sense of a world that doesn’t want to make sense of him. Poe, Shakespeare, Rousseau, Cicero. Classics and philosophers and poets-- men of making.

 

Sam can’t help himself, a finger rising to trace along the bones, cutting underneath the milky pale skin, protected by gloves and tape from years of football. They’re beautiful, soft and lovely, in a way Sam hasn’t ever really thought about anything in a long, long time.

 

“What…” Grizz startles a bit, almost dropping his phone, watching as Sam draws a line along the bump of his wrist, moving further down to his arm, as it widens and the skin gets darker, freckles abundant like starbursts.

 

Sam doesn’t have words for the feeling in his chest, moving up to his head, making him flush hot and feel dizzy, as he licks his lips.

 

Grizz can take care of himself. Has for a long time. But Sam can’t help but want to wrap him in cotton wool and keep him safe from everything, safe and warm and cared for, in their little bubble.

 

If he’s being honest, Sam’s had a crush on Grizz for years, ever since Campbell was in fifth grade English with him, and Sam had to collect Campbell from class-- was stood by the door, dread curdling his gut, lost in his head until Grizz had tapped him on the shoulder. “Everything okay?” he had said slowly, a hesitant smile on his face.

 

(Grizz at eleven wasn’t much different than Grizz at seventeen-- just shorter and a little stocky, but still with the floppy brown hair and kind eyes. Sam had startled and nodded, the shock enough to move him into action, knocking at the door and moving inside, the note from his teacher getting crumpled in his hand.)

 

Grizz drops his phone on his side table and looks at Sam, watching him, lost in tracing the delicate bones and muscle, before he wraps his fingers around, encircling Grizz’s wrist entirely.

 

“Your hands,” Sam whispers, unsure if Grizz can even understand him, lacing their fingers together and savouring the feel of Grizz’s hands, calloused from the garden and football and whatever other wilderness excitements he fills his day with.

 

“Yeah?” Grizz says, as Sam looks up at him. God, if Sam could hear his voice, he thinks he’d die. Not being able to hear Grizz is probably the only thing stopping Sam from telling Grizz he loves him, after four amazing orgasms and a fifth impending, if Grizz staring at his lips is any indication.

 

Sam doesn’t get to finish, as Grizz rolls on top of him and kisses him, deep and purposeful, slotting a thick leg between Sam’s, moaning as he moves his way down Sam’s neck, holding his hand down above his head. Sam can barely handle the feeling, can’t handle the weight of Grizz’s body against his, pinning him down, the feel of his cock rubbing against Sam’s hip, Sam thrusting up into empty air as Grizz starts to kiss his way down.

 

If this is God’s way of apologising, Sam will take it.

  
  


**ii.**

 

Grizz dresses like a 35-year-old hipster who gave up on the movement decades ago but can’t quite shake the desire to still be-- _that_.

 

Today Grizz is in his red and black checked flannel, a grey shirt that says “WARNING: I’M A HUGGER” on a bear’s chest, and black cargos tucked into tube socks, sneakers completing the look. Sam wants to wade into Grizz’s closest and drawers and figure out exactly what the aesthetic is, because he’s not even sure there’s a name for how Grizz presents himself.

 

“What are you wearing?” Sam asks, signing slowly as he goes. Grizz has taken to learning ASL with voracity, and is probably at the level of Sam when he was five, which is impressive as fuck considering they only started a month ago.

 

Grizz looks up from his copy of The Iliad, a smile quirking his lips, perfect as always.

 

“Huh?” Grizz asks, tucking his hair behind his ear. Sam’s surprised he hasn’t put it up in his little pony tail, as he’s known to do, more often lately.

 

None of them have any experience cutting hair, and nobody’s brave enough to volunteer to be the guinea pig or volunteer to pick up the scissors. So they’re all starting to look a little unkempt, six months on. Sam’s hair grows slow as hell, so he’s still fine, thankfully.

 

“I said, what are you wearing?” Sam repeats, hands on his hips. Grizz looks down.

 

“The shirt? My mom got it for me when she was in Seattle. Thought it was funny since I’m super like, out there and I should come with a warning,” Grizz says, tugging at the shirt.

 

Sam remembers he wore it on the bus, with his letterman jacket.

 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you hug anyone,” Sam says, making his way closer, leaning against the bench.

 

Grizz has parked himself at the library’s front desk, on information duty today. They’re pouring over the almanacs and science sections daily, trying to figure out where the hell they are-- or at least a way to figure out how to figure out where they are. Grizz has a stack of books by his elbows, but they don’t look sciency. They look like they come from the history section, Sam recognising the “HIS” call code.

 

“I hug everyone all the time. I think it’s a way to be like, I play football but I won’t put you in the trash for being weird?” Grizz scrunches up his nose, hating the stereotype, Sam can already tell. But it’s a stereotype for a reason, and most of the footballers had either treated him with ignorance, indifference, or pretended he didn’t exist. Being Campbell’s little brother came with benefits and issues-- more the latter than the former.

 

“You’ve never hugged me,” Sam says, pouting.

 

It’s not exactly a lie. They sort of sped right past hugging and canoodling and went straight into visceral sex, the kind where Grizz yanks Sam into a cupboard in the caf and sucks him off, Sam threading his fingers through his hair. He blushes a little at the memory.

 

“Uh, well, we kind of went past that,” Grizz laughs, but he’s got that look in his eyes, the kind that says Bean bowed out of research early to go see Gordie about something complicated, and they’re all alone in the library, with plenty of dark stacks to hide amongst.

 

“Yeah,” Sam trails off, and moves around, coming to stand between Grizz’s legs. He kisses him, soft and sweet, can’t help himself as Grizz makes a noise, soft and sweet as well. He leans in, wrapping his arms around Grizz’s waist, and Grizz envelops him.

 

Sam melts, the feel of Grizz holding him almost too much. The heat, leaning against Grizz’s bulk, his arms powerful and his face pressed against Sam’s face, nosing kisses along his head.

 

They stay like that, for who knows how long, until Sam’s gathered himself enough to  pull back, leaning in for another kiss as he goes.

 

“Wow,” he says, feeling dazed. “You definitely do need to come with a warning.”

 

Grizz laughs, giggles really-- looking embarrassed but way too pleased with himself.

  
  


**iii.**

 

It’s the hair ties that finally trip them up.

 

They’re not keeping it a secret, really.

 

Grizz doesn’t want to be closeted, and Sam’s been out for a while, telling his family first and then Becca and Gordie. Bean and the rest have found out through idle gossip, and the DNA magazine they’d found in his backpack when looking for copies of leasing documents he’d collected to review as part of this fucked up alternate universe conspiracy .

 

But they also haven’t gone out their way to PDA in public, too busy with their own work and Sam busy with Becca’s baby and trying to be supportive, and then finally rushing to Grizz’s on the other side of town to fall into bed together, drinking their fill after a day apart.

 

But Grizz has about sixty hair ties, tucked away in all manner of places across his house, Allie’s house, the library, the garden, and the caf. Sam tends to have two or three on him, in case Grizz ever starts to look frustrated, constantly tucking his hair behind his ears.

 

It’s second nature that during a meeting at Allie’s, talking about the smell and whether they’ve found any more emails or documents about their parents dealings, when Grizz is shoving at his hair every two seconds and Sam reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a hair tie, nudging Grizz as he holds it out.

 

“Thanks, babe,” Grizz says, continuing on with his particular theory about Harry’s mom, while the others stare.

 

“I’m sorry-- thanks, _babe?_ ” Gordie snorts, unable to help himself. Sam realises what he’s done, Grizz halting mid-sentence as it sinks in as well.

 

“Ah,” Grizz says, looking at Sam. Sam looks back. Not his rodeo-- not his outing.

 

“Um, yeah. Babe.” Grizz says, reaching to hold Sam’s hand. Sam stays stock still, not wanting to move, to breathe.

 

Becca’s known for a while, ever since Sam broke down at her place after Grizz left with the Expedition, scared out of his goddamned mind. They haven’t really told many people that he’s Eden’s father, and Becca just wants him to be happy, in that painful way he can’t ever since to handle, everyone just wanting the _best_ for him.

 

“Right. Congratulations.” Will says, looking at Allie, who can’t stop smirking.

 

“Go Sam, got yourself a hot football player,” she says, and Sam can’t help but laugh.

 

Grizz rolls his eyes. “ _Anyway_ , back to what I was saying…”

 

(Sam never stops collecting hair ties.)

  
  


**iv.**

 

Grizz Visser, the boy who is so sure of everything, so in control and whom everyone looks up to, is blushing as he asks Sam if they can try something different tonight.

 

Sam’s mostly naked, completely turned on, and more than interested to see what Grizz’s idea of ‘something different’ entails.

 

In the past month, they’ve done almost everything but _it_ , and Sam is wondering whether they’ll ever get there. Not in a bad way, just in a… what would it look like way. Would Grizz want to bottom? Would Sam?

 

He’s used toys on himself before, the orgasms rushing up over him before he’s ready, the feeling out of this world.

 

“Sure,” Sam says, lips swollen from their make out session, trying not to laugh as he takes in the mess of Grizz’s hair, the hickey fading on his collarbone. They’re so ridiculous together.

 

(Can’t _believe_ they’re together.)

 

“Um,” Grizz says, and bites his lip.

 

Sam’s going to grow old by the time Grizz gets whatever he wants out, so he figures _fuck it_ and goes for broke.

 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asks, and hopes Grizz says yes. God, the idea of Grizz on his back, the noises he’ll make, _fuuuuuuuck._

 

Grizz chokes, and composes himself, gone beet red.

 

“How--” he starts, and Sam is so all about this, making his way up the bed to push Grizz back.

  
  
“Because it’s the only thing we haven’t done. I’m so down for that,” Sam signs, up on his knees, between Grizz’s legs. He’s still red, looks awkward, and Sam frowns.

 

“Do you…” he trails off, and Grizz nods, hands moving.

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he signs, and grabs the lube. “Ah, I don’t… I mean, it’s been a while, I don’t have any…” Grizz stutters, giving up signing, and Sam looks heavenward.

 

“I’m-- I mean, I trust you. I know you haven’t been with anyone before me. And I haven’t been with anyone for like, two years,” Grizz says. Sam looks back down, working hard not to drop his jaw. _Bareback?_ He’s not making it out alive.

 

“Oh my god,” Sam groans, and yanks down Grizz’s Grinch boxes, working on his own as he grabs the lube and starts praying. _Please, God, let me not come early, let Grizz have an amazing experience, I want to do this forever, please, God._

 

He sucks Grizz off as he works a finger inside, Grizz’s warmth tight around him, and Grizz is already losing his shit, well before Sam works up to three, eyes flicking to Grizz’s mouth.

 

“Oh my god, Sam, I’m not gonna make it,” Grizz finally yelps, and Sam lets Grizz’s dick pop from his mouth as he adds a fourth.

 

Grizz has his head thrown back, hands holding onto his bed, Sam doesn’t know what he’s saying but it’s probably swearing, as he squirms around, his dick red and harder than Sam’s ever had it before-- which is saying something.

 

“Get in me, Jesus, please,” Grizz pleads, waving his hands to get Sam’s attention, signing a mess, and Sam is nothing if not a giver.

 

He gets up right close, breathing heavily, words meaning nothing anymore, slicking up his dick, sticky hands holding Grizz’s hips, Grizz’s knees pressing against his sides.

 

It feels like nothing he’ll ever know how to describe, as he sinks in, and Grizz’s knees tighten, to the point where it’s almost painful, the power there barely held together. Sam can’t possibly get any more turned on by his hot, athletic, amazing boyfriend ( _boyfriend_???) if he tried, and just focuses on trying to get a rhythm together, reaching for Grizz’s dick.

 

It feels like what Sam imagines heaven to be.

 

Grizz comes first, all of a sudden, barely fifteen thrusts in, and Sam follows him over, the feel of Grizz spasming around him too much, coating his hands. Sam manages to pull out and flop down next to him, breathing like he’s run a marathon.

 

Grizz taps him after a few minutes, and Sam looks up, smiling weakly. He’s so tired. Topping is a hard business. Definitely Grizz’s turn next time.

 

“Was it good?” Sam gets in first, fingers barely making the right signs.

 

Grizz bursts into a smile, and nods.

 

“So good. We’re doing that _all the time_.”

 

Sam whacks him, and shakes his head. “Nu uh, my turn next time! You’ve got the body to put in that kind of work!” he exclaims, and Grizz looks down at the mess.

 

“Yeah, it feels good but kind of gross clean up. I need a shower. Join me?”

 

Sam’s not sure his legs will work properly again, but wobbles his way to the bathroom after Grizz. He needs to start going to the gym if they’re going to be doing this more. Gross.

  
  


**v.**

  


On the rare occasions Sam can’t get to Grizz’s before curfew, he has weird dreams.

 

The kind where they’re back in their normal timeline, and it’s just a normal day, like they got off the bus and their parents were all there. Campbell pushing past him and his parents to get to the car. Allie and Cassandra hugging him goodbye, Becca and Gordie telling him to text when he got home so they could continue watching Jessica Jones at Gordie’s.

 

Sam’s pathetically into Grizz, still, but Grizz is with the team, Luke and Caleb talking about some new play they want to try at practise the next week, and Sam can never seem to get to him.

 

It then flashes forward to school the next week, the smell mysteriously gone, and Sam feeling lost-- the cooperative Commie approach of his classmates gone, everything gone, gone, gone. It’s like a death, like the universe being ripped out from under him.

 

He sits in AP Biology, Grizz in the desk behind and to the left of him, and he can’t concentrate, can’t take notes, just wants to turn around and ask Grizz what’s going on-- are they still a thing, can he remember their other life together?

 

But it never makes it that far, someone shaking him awake as the daylight breaks and his morning shift in the caf or at the gardens waiting for him.

 

He always hugs Grizz that bit tighter after those nights, not sure how to tell Grizz what he’s dreaming of, and why it only happens when they’re not together.

 

They still haven’t put into words what they are-- Becca’s situation making it complicated, and Grizz slowly orchestrating his coming out, something he had planned on doing at thirty, when he eventually came back after making something of himself in the world, not when they’re seventeen and all as judgemental and horrible as they’ll ever be.

 

But Sam needs it today, needs to know Grizz wants this as badly as he does.

 

“Grizz?” Sam signs, and Grizz nods, asking what’s up, his signing getting more fluid the more he practises. Sometimes Sam will pretend he can’t read lips, until Grizz sets his mouth and signs, skipping words and getting things mixed up, but always getting better.

 

“Grizz, what are we? Are we dating? Boyfriend and boyfriend?” he signs, talking as he goes. These are new signs, ones they haven’t covered in their lessons.

 

Grizz stills, and cocks his head.

 

“Duh. Isn’t it obvious?” Grizz smiles, almost too carefree.

 

“I just wanted to-- it’s hard. Our situation. I just wanted to know where we stand.” Sam feels stupid now, knows they’ve been exclusive for a while, but not having _said_ it just makes that small, horrible part inside him pulsate, uncertain and anxious.

 

“Of course. I’m working hard to get it out there. We should hold hands more, when we’re out together. Kiss more. Do normal stuff.  _The beginning is the most important part of the work_ ,” Grizz says, throwing up quotation marks-- they’ve worked out he needs to do that, otherwise Sam thinks he’s much deeper than he actually is. Can’t have that now.

 

“Who’s that?” Sam asks, unable to stop smiling.

 

“Plato,” Grizz says, throwing up the P, the short sign for his favourite philosopher.

 

“Of course,” Sam sighs, rolling his eyes.

 

Grizz laughs and steps close, pulling him in to kiss.

 

“You are beloved to me,” Grizz signs, and Sam can’t believe Grizz is hitting all his romantic buttons in sign-- who the fuck learns how to woo someone with their fingers, honestly.

 

“You are beloved to me, too,” Sam signs back, and leans in for another kiss. Fuck it. He’ll kiss his boyfriend all he wants. Fuck it all.

**Author's Note:**

> I am fandom old, it was a "thing" when I was a whippersnapper to do the i/ii/iii etc. Can't help the stylistic prettiness. I'm on brand at Twitter, "naomicovinsky" on Tumblr, if you're interested.


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